


Nature's Shackles

by terrawrites



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Blood and Gore, Custom Hawke (Dragon Age), Drinking to Cope, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, I love Fenris I swear, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Warrior Hawke (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 03:43:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18541579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrawrites/pseuds/terrawrites
Summary: (forgot to add this at first before posting I'm a professional I swear)Fenris had spent practically his whole known life in shackles. He had always known of the disease, had seen its effects first hand, but never had the consequences of it truly crossed his mind until the first petal was staring right at him. No longer bound by iron, Fenris finds himself at the mercy of nature's shackles and no idea if these bonds will be as easily broken, or if he even wants them to be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bear with me this first note might be a little long I just want to make sure I cover everything
> 
> Additional Warnings: Angst, Implied/referenced sexual abuse (Danarius asserting his sexual control over Fenris as his master, but nothing graphic. If you want to skip the parts where it’s referenced, they are in the italic flashbacks but the specific paragraphs will be marked with a *) blood will be coughed up with the petals in some cases, but it gets progressively worse, canon-typical violence and gore and I think I covered it all?
> 
> Okay so I was originally going to post this to my tumblr in parts and upload the whole thing here but basically I started this back in April 2018 and it's like a year later now and I've decided after scrapping and rewriting this thing I'll just upload it in parts here as well. So now I can at least get this out to some degree and maybe it'll kick me into finishing this faster. Originally this was just supposed to be a quick oneshot now it's looking like it'll be 20k words and I'm kind of excited not going to lie. This is easily the biggest thing I've ever written so feedback is definitely appreciated! Especially constructive criticism! I'm only human and I know I can make mistakes.
> 
> Summary of the Hanahaki AU to those that need it (and from my understanding of it): The au is about unrequited love. If one person loves another, but it is not returned, they start to grow flowers in their lungs. Over time, the flowers make it harder and harder to breathe, with the individual coughing up petals more and more often. Eventually, the person suffocates if the love is still unrequited. The flowers can be removed, but if they are, the person is unable to love or fall in love ever again. However if the love is ever returned, the person afflicted is cured with the flowers disappearing. Obviously there are some slight variations by whoever writes it but that is the general gist of it.

           Fenris watched the petal fall, as it drew lazy patterns in the air in its decent to the ground below. It didn’t seem to care about the death sentence etched into every spatter of blood spread over the scarlet expanse. Fear gripped his heart, icy daggers clawed at his insides as he stared at the petal between his dirt-crusted feet.  _This couldn’t be happening. He had been so careful about avoiding this exact thing, so how could it be happening?_  His breaths started coming in faster, shallower as the panic began to spread. Inadvertently it aggravated his lungs and sent a few more red petals drifting to the ground in response.

           The evidence was impossible for him to deny, and the truth of the matter is he knew exactly how he got to this point, how he  _let_  himself get to this point. It all was because of  _her._   _Of Hawke._  She was a warrior with no equal. An indomitable wall of heavy armor and purpose. With her sword and shield in her hands she was the steadfast force between the scourge of the city and the weak and innocent. Her long brown hair flowing over her shoulders and sharp blue eyes taking the breath (literally) from him every time he watched her.

          Whereas with anyone else in her position he would have met them with a skeptical disbelief, knowing that deep down they were only acting that kind to reach some hidden motive of personal gain, Hawke was truly sincere in her compassion for the people of this city, even when they were wholly undeserving in his eyes. She was a force of nature, a storm of fury and compassion that had his heart skipping a beat since he first laid his gaze upon her that fateful night in Lowtown.

           The very thought sent his lungs fluttering, an itch that he had to fight against lest more petals join the rest on the broken tile in front of him. Panic still held him tight within its grasp, and he had to take a few deep breaths to try and steady his raging emotions, to quell his bodies’ sudden desire to fight or flight. Neither were what he needed in this moment, if the ever-persistent flutter was anything to discern by.

           Sleep would not come for him that night. His mind plagued by nightmares, remnants of his time with Danarius danced in a mocking fashion behind his eyelids every time they drew together for longer than the briefest of touches. More than once be would sit up in a bolt of gasping breath and sweat-slicked hair, clinging to the sides of his face while he attempted to piece together his surroundings, to know that no longer was he there.

_A bitter laugh from his master, the wide, pleading eyes gazing up at him from where she crouched at his feet. A deep blue, once vibrant like the sky above him now brimming with tears that fell across her cheeks in rivers. She begged him, clasped her hands in what small grip she could manage in the front of his breastplate, mouth trying to form words but only blood and petals spewed forth, a nauseating gurgling gag filling the space instead of words._

_“Don’t you worry, you insolent wretch.” Danarius spat. “I supposed I can’t blame you for forgetting your place, my little wolf **is**  quite delectable to look at, isn’t he?” A smirk and eyes that watched the helpless slave with a sadistic pleasure as the blood came out ever thicker. A hand ran down his side, he didn’t flinch away from the caress this time. “It’s unfortunate that my entertainment shall soon draw to a close, but you were oh so easy to manipulate, wait until my acquaintances at the Magistrate here about this one~!”_

_The slave was choking now, still looking up at him with every ounce of love she had been crafted into feeling laid bare, hoping that he would return even the tiniest shred and spare her rapidly encroaching fate._

_He felt his heart lurch in his chest, but it was not out of love, it was of pity for he felt naught for the most recent victim of Tevinter’s newest form of entertainment. He was stoic as he stood there, unmoving._

_He watched as the hope in her eyes died out with the last choking cough before she fell still at his feet, her eyes still turned upward towards him as if still begging for him to feel even in death. As Danarius barked out his laughter from behind, Fenris could only manage the faintest of frowns._

_***** A pair of hands on his shoulders brought him out of his trance. “Get on all fours, slave.” He tried to ignore the violent churning within as he did the only thing he could do: comply._

           When the first rays of the morning sun broke through the rooftops of Hightown, illuminating the crumbling interior of his “reclaimed” mansion, Fenris was finally given reprieve from his own mind, forcing the dark tendrils of his past back into the deep dredges of his mind. He let himself go through the motions of his routine, checking the barricaded wings for any breaches, polishing his sword and armor, and fetching the latest bottle from the cellar to drown himself in.

           The entire morning, he did everything he could to not think of her, but as always, his own mind betrayed him at every turn. He wished with every fiber in his being that the events from the previous night had just been the latest in his regular routine of nightmare-filled sleep, but the stirring in his lungs grew ever more unbearable with each passing thought of Hawke, until once again he sat doubled over coughing into his fist.

           When he finally caught his breath, he didn’t feel the panic as strong as he had the day previous, but he felt himself sag in defeat. He always knew that this was a possibility once he had fled Seheron. The memories of his time with them still weighing in the recesses of his mind just like Danarius.

_Mangled corpses littered the ground, holes bared open in chests with the blood still welling, a crimson pool diluted by the rain that pelted the jungle. His took stuttered breaths, his eyes wide not at the lives he had taken with his own fists, his own blade, but at the elf lying twisted in the dirt in front of him. Blonde hair matted with blood and mud, her gray eyes wide and unblinking, from her open mouth, blood and petals spilled across the ground in front of her, slowly being washed away by the pounding rain._

_A low laugh from over his shoulder sent chills up his spine and his stomach lurched._

_***** “My little wolf~” The breath on his ear, the tone that dripped false sweetness. His skin burned where his fingers curled around his arms. “You’ll be rewarded for your loyalty. It pleases me to know that you still know who you belong to, even when we’re apart.”_

_***** The hands drifted further around his body, tracing patterns over his iron-clad torso. His breath was coming in quicker but not for the reasons Danarius hoped. When the command was whispered in his ear, he snapped. Fueled by revulsion, panic, and years of repressed anger, he lashed out, and when his former master had finally regained his bearings from the sudden display of rebellion, Fenris was long gone._

           Ever since then Fenris had always been so careful. Knowing that anyone who got close to him would not only be put in danger because he was an escaped slave, but because of the disease, was too much for him to bear, to go through watching again. He avoided people at all costs, worked through dead drops when he could, and kept everyone at more than arm’s length when he absolutely had to interact with anyone. Never again would he let someone like him be the source of an innocent person’s death. Yet Fate, ever the cruel and mysterious mistress, had now turned the tables against him. Instead of Fenris watching unfeeling as someone he had grown to know wither away before him, he was now the one helpless in the eyes of someone who would never come to see him as anything more.

           Perhaps, he should be thankful. Long since escaping Danarius, and even under him, Fenris had believed himself to be broken, incapable of feeling love like had been described to him by Layana in the dense jungle of Seheron. At the time he had rolled his eyes as she recalled tale after tale of romance to him, stories of young noblewomen seduced by the wandering traveler or rescued from tyrannical oppression by a valiant hero. Hindsight, often just as cruel as Fate, left the knowledge that the time she spent with him hadn’t been as innocent as he had initially believed.

           Despite everything, every carefully laid plan had come crashing down when he came to Kirkwall. City of Chains was in his mind more than befitting of such a city. Bound to this city now by his affections, the irony of his position hung over him every waking moment. He almost wished that Danarius could see him in this moment, the prologue to his demise resting in the palm of his hand. Kept sheltered from any inkling of affection for another being within the lavishly decorated halls of Danarius’ mansion, Fenris wasn’t sure if it was because Danarius didn’t want to lose out on the costly investment etched onto every inch of his skin, or for something that ran the risk of him losing what little he still had in his stomach. Fenris would laugh if he wasn’t so sure the action would knock a few more of the petals loose. All of his former master’s hard work, and it gets undone by some Ferelden farmer.

            _But she’s more than that to you._  He shook the thought from his mind. He had to find a way to avoid her. Fenris was wholly and truly in love with Hawke, and he knew that under no circumstances could he let her know that. If she knew about this, knew that he would suffocate on his feelings for her, she would force herself to love him, to give him the chance at a free life that she so wholly believes he deserves. He wasn’t worthy of her love, this he knew, but if she believed that or not, he held no clue. Nevertheless, he would never give her the option to find out. Hawke deserved someone far better than he. Hawke was many things, and Fenris knew that if she asked, he would rip his own heart out of his chest for her. He would die for her, and now it looks like he was going to have to.

          On some level that thought terrified him, but he also knew that she would never ask for such a thing. She wasn’t Danarius, everything under him had felt wrong, every command and action washing over him like bathing in oil, just waiting for the thing that would ignite and consume him in its inferno. With Hawke, he was an equal, a -dare he even consider it- friend. There was never any waiting for the other hand to fall, any hidden catches to her requests, never anything more asked of him than she would ask of anyone else.

           He looked out his window, at the nobles beginning their morning runs as the sun continued to climb above the buildings and pondered his next move. Going out would run too high of a risk of running into Hawke. He needed to get his coughing under control before he could think to handle such a thing. He knew eventually Hawke would come here looking for him, but this mansion was big, and if there was one thing he had gotten good at in his life, it was how to make himself unnoticeable in a room. Staying holed up was the best thing he could do, if not for him, then for her.

           It would be a few weeks since he coughed his first red petal before he would willingly walk out of his mansion. The fear of running into Hawke had morphed into running into anyone of their circle, fearing on some baser level that they would treat him like those back in Minrathous. The more rational part of his brain knew better, he hoped, but that small lingering cloud of doubt kept him tucked into the furthest corner of his bedchamber.

           Of course, true to her nature it wasn’t long before Hawke had come to his door, wanting to whisk him away on some adventure or another. For the first week, he went between pretending to not be home, to acting as if he already had plans. By the second, he claimed illness. Those worked, Hawke’s good nature not allowing her to pry too far into his lie, but they would only hold out so long. Several times he had packed a travel bag, hand inches from the handle to his door ready to disappear into the night and never look back. Yet each time his hand fell away, and he slunk back up the stairs defeated. He could never abandon her, even if it could mean saving her in the long run.

          As the third week rolled around, and Fenris still “ill,” Hawke had more or less kicked down his door, practically begging him to go see Anders for a checkup. Her concern for his wellbeing warmed his heart, but only for a few brief moments before he felt the flowers in his lungs stirring as he reacted to her presence. He just gave a curt nod, keeping his replies short and as single-worded as he felt he could safely manage, his being straining from the effort that his face had turned a bright red. He jerked when she went to touch him in a moment of genuine concern, fearing that if she would to lay her hand upon him then his control would snap and he would cough his confession all over the floor. He didn’t realize how his reaction must have looked until he turned his head back and saw the horror written into the lines on her face.

          She sputtered out a string of apologies, yanking her hand back to her side. Guilt welled up inside him as he watched her struggle with her words, over her anger at Danarius though she had never met the man. Yet he kept his mouth shut, his gaze turned down towards his feet. Better for her to mis-read the situation than to have her know the truth.

          With a few last apologies, a lingering look of concern, and a promise from him that he would go see the mage, Hawke had finally taken her leave. As soon as he was sure she was far enough away to be able to hear him, he let loose the violent fit that he had been holding at bay. Apparently trying to keep them in only made it worse when they were allowed to come out. Who knew? It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes until the last of the petals were drifting to the floor, his lungs a lot more tolerable. He looked around at the firelight dancing off the red petals, and felt the anger begin to simmer under his skin. Not at Hawke, but at himself, his situation, Danarius, mages, everything wrong that had happened in his life.

          When he woke the next morning, he knew that Hawke had a point. If there was anything that might be able to help him, be it a cure, or a treatment or even… something to ease the pain when it comes, the Abomination would be the most likely out of their group to know of it or have it. Though Fenris knew enough about the disease from what he had witnessed firsthand, he was certain that anything useful had been kept from him. Maker knew that as much as Fenris absolutely loathed Anders, his best course of action involved him swallowing his pride and making the trek to Darktown if there was any chance for him to acquire the answers to his problem. If not for himself then at least for Hawke.

          Or was he? Fenris sat on the edge of one of the couches with a huff, the old and at this point probably moldy linen sagging under his weight. He cradled his head in his hands as he considered his other options. Varric? He shook his head. Varric was too cunning, he’d see through any lie Fenris could throw at him to cover up his interest, even if he did have the resources and connections to help him. Besides, Varric and Hawke were too close, too similar in their compassion for those they cared about and those they considered to be the “little guy.” Varric would feel obligated as both a friend to him and Hawke to tell her, and then he’d be right where he didn’t want to be.

          Maybe he could try Bethany? No, she wasn’t a good candidate either. Though she had the entirety of the Kirkwall Circle’s library and herbalists at her call, the risk such an inquiry might pose to her under Meredith’s reign would be too great. The only thing worse than putting Hawke at risk because of him was putting her family at risk instead. He would never live with himself if that were the case, his own personal feelings aside about magic he actually didn’t hate the youngest Hawke. Though arguably naïve about things in his mind, she had shared some of the finer qualities of his elder sister, and at least wouldn’t willingly submit to any demons.

          Sebastian was as equally out of the question as Varric for most of the same reasons. Talking to Isabela would run to high of a risk of Varric finding out, Aveline would only end up asking Varric or Hawke on his behalf, which would still expose his condition. Merrill? He shuddered at the thought. She was too quick to turn to blood magic in his mind, and he would rather use his markings to rip his own heart out than to feel the sickening taint of blood magic on him ever again.

          No, Anders was truly his only option. That thought made him groan into his hands. It would be a few more hours before Fenris was able to get himself to leave the relative comfort of his Hightown mansion and begin the walk to Darktown. He had made sure to throw the petals he had coughed into the fireplace before he stepped out his door, he couldn’t afford anyone coming across them while he was away. The sun by now was already slipping ever closer to the horizon, the evening crowd of nobles making their last purchases before heading home for the night. The gangs would be out soon, and for the unwary patron it could prove deadly. Fenris felt his hands go to test the greatsword strapped to his back at the thought. The whole way there, he kept repeating that he was doing this for Hawke, and that’s the only reason. He wasn’t sure if he believed himself, and it didn’t go very far in soothing his rising anxiety.


	2. Chapter 2

           The last few rays were just hanging onto the horizon by the time Fenris stood in front of the large oak doors that marked the entrance to Anders’ clinic. He looked above to the lantern, feeling the corners of his mouth turn down when he saw the flickering tips of the flame inside. Part of him had been hoping that Anders would have already closed down for the night by the time he arrived, and he could use the excuse to retreat back home and figure out some other method for himself.

           He raised his fist to the wood, hesitated, and lowered it again. He cursed himself within his own mind. Right now, his biggest hindrance wasn’t the flowers suffocating him within his lungs, but his own pride at asking for help. _Especially from Anders._ As much as he loathed the thought of showing weakness to an Abomination, even he had to admit that this problem was bigger than his own pride. _So why can’t I just knock on the damn door?_ He let out a groan of frustration aimed at himself and without thinking, hit his fist against the door to vent some of it. He hadn’t even realized what he did until he heard a muffled call from inside the clinic.

           “It’s open come in!” He stared at where his fist was still against the worn oak in bewilderment. _I guess that works_ , he thought. He took one last breath to steady himself and attempt to calm the last of his lingering anxiety that seemed to spark back up at the sound of Anders’ call. As he stepped in, his nose was immediately assaulted by the overwhelming smell of different herbs. It almost overwhelmed him, and he had to fight against the urge to cough lest he give himself away barely three steps past the door. As he looked around at the empty cots lining either side of the clinic walls, he let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the mage was currently turned with his back to the elf, clearly focused on the task before him. He immediately regretted that deep breath though, as the strong odor of the clinic only aggravated his lungs even more. “I’ll be with you in just a moment, I need to finish up with this patient first.”

           Fenris figured it was for the best if he just kept quiet for the time being, There was no use to potentially risk injuring the man in front of the mage by tipping him off to who exactly had just stepped into the clinic. In the meantime, Fenris tried not to focus too much on the uncharacteristically vacant room. He didn’t know if it would be better or worse for him knowing that it would just be him and Anders to discuss things.

           Briefly, he considered saying “fuck this” and bolting out the door, but before it could become anything more than a barely entertained thought, Anders had finished with his current charge, turning around to face him. “Sorry about the wait, now what can I help you wi- _Fenris?_ ”

           Under different circumstances, the sound of the pure bewilderment on both his face and in his voice would have been hilarious to him. But Alas, as his business currently hinged on keeping Anders in a helpful mood, he would have to keep any antagonistic comments to himself.

           On second thought, maybe just one would make him feel better about all of this.

           “Is that meant to be a serious question? Are you perhaps the one in need of a checkup, ma-” He stopped himself before he could finish calling him his usual name. It wouldn’t work out well for him to piss Anders off to much right now.

           Anders raised his brow, clearly noticing how Fenris had stopped himself, but remained quiet. The healer was still thrown off by Fenris’ sudden presence, but he managed to at least gain some measure of composure over his being. “I know Hawke said she was going to try and get you to come down, but I thought it was going to end with her physically dragging you down here like usual.” There was a stretch of silence between them, each person staring at the other in different stages of disbelief that the events before them were actually unfolding. When Fenris still stood unmoving, Anders gave him a break. “I guess you’re worse off than any of us realized if you’re here now on your own.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Alright, take a seat so I can get this over with.”

           In some corner of his mind, Fenris realized that perhaps this was the longest the two of them had gone without outwardly insulting each other, leaving only an uncomfortable and unsure awkwardness keeping them at bay. When he still hadn’t moved, Anders cleared his throat sending a slight twinge of panic through him. Fenris hadn’t actually thought about what he would say to the mage once he got here. His thoughts scattered to the wind as he desperately tried to scrounge up any excuse he could. Fenris didn’t want to admit to his condition, especially to someone like the Abomination before him. No doubt Anders would lord it over him, possibly even go to Hawke about it with a claim that fighting with such a condition would only put her and everyone around him in danger. Anything to keep him out of the picture so he had a clear shot to winning her heart. It was no secret that Anders had fallen for their companion and leader, and even though she had repeatedly turned down his advances he still seemed adamant at trying to win her over when he could.

           The thought of the Abomination putting his hands on her in that way sent his blood boiling, but he had to force himself to calm down and swallow the bitter remark that tried to claw its way past his lips. He still needed help.

           Fenris took a couple steps words one of the cots, still trying to come up with an excuse when he paused, running his tongue over his suddenly dry lips as he prepared to try the first one his mind supplied. Hopefully, Anders would take the lie at face value, though even to Fenris it sounded like more than a longshot.

           “Actually-” He had to pause a moment to try and stifle the urge to cough. “I was not being truthful when I told Hawke that I was ill.”

           “Oh?” He could hear Anders’ voice over his shoulder and hear him subtly reach for his staff nearby. Figures the mage would think that Fenris came here to kill him, it just went to show how much of a fool Anders was in his mind. “Then why are you here, especially of your own accord?”

           “I require your aid in a… somewhat sensitive matter.” Fenris tried not to cringe at the understatement as he turned back around to face Anders.

           “Really? If you don’t need healing couldn’t you ask literally anyone else who likes you a lot more than I do?” Anders was trying to bait him, trying to bring them both into an argument that would make this situation a lot more bearable and familiar to the both of them. But Fenris couldn’t let himself fall into that trap. He hadn’t gotten what he came here for yet.

           “I may not be ill, but what I require is medical in nature, leaving you as my only option.” He hated admitting that he needed Anders, but Fenris had no other choice in this moment.

           He could tell the mage was still unsure, Maker, Fenris was too but he couldn’t back away now. “Okay… so what is so important about this matter that you lied to Hawke and avoided everyone for three weeks now?” Anders’ eyes were scanning over every inch of him, trying to detect any hint of injury on his person. He would be looking for a long time, as his only problem was currently still aggravating the inside of his lungs. As such Fenris let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding, then immediately wished he hadn’t when the itch inside his lungs only grew stronger

           “I have an… acquaintance who has enlisted my help to gather information.”

           “Wait you actually have friends? Other than Hawke? Color me surprised.” Fenris felt his eye twitch, but with sheer will he bit back his venomous retort in favor of getting this over with as soon as he could.

           “Yes I do indeed have other ‘friends.’ But as I was trying to say, this individual has come down with a particular condition and so they have requested my help in gathering information so as not to draw attention to themselves.”

            “Okay fine, what has your ‘friend’ come down with?” Anders relented with a sigh, dropping his defensive stance a tad, but still on edge in case Fenris made a move. Fenris had to fight not to roll his eyes at the gesture.

            “They have come down with Hanahaki Disease. I am… familiar with how it happens and works but… that is the extent of my knowledge. I only know how it comes to be and how it kills,” Fenris had to suppress a shudder at the memories of lifeless eyes and pools of blood, “but nothing in the way of cures or treatments.” Fenris grimaced through his confession. He hated admitting to his own shortcomings, _especially_ in front of someone like Anders, but he needed to know if he had any chance.

           He wasn’t expecting Anders’ eyes to go as wide as they did. “ _Are you sure it’s Hanahaki?_ ” Irked, Fenris didn’t try to stop the annoyed huff that left him. Instead, he moved his arm to reach into one of the pouches on his belt. He saw Anders tense for a brief moment, the tinest flicker of gathered magic pulling at his markings before the mage stilled, mouth dropped agape at the petals in his upturned palm. It was an accident that Fenris had any petals on him in the first place. In his haste to get to Darktown and get this meeting over with, he had failed to realize the few petals which had gotten caught on his armor until he was already too far away to turn back. Now however, they would prove useful in helping Fenris sell his own lie.

           The mage grabbed the petals from his palm, inspecting them with and ever-growing grave expression as he turned them over in his fingers with the upmost care. “There flower petals appear legitimate.” Fenris tried not to be offended by that comment. “Unfortunately, there’s only two ‘cures’ that are known.”

           “And they are?” Fenris felt his anxiety grow, he didn’t like the sound of being limited to two options, he already had a feeling what the first one was. He tried not to give in to the urge to shift on his feet or express how he felt about the matter, Anders didn’t need any hints to the real patient of this visit.

           “The best method is for the person who the afflicted loves, to return their feelings. If the love is requited, the flowers perish and are coughed up without injury or much fuss. Of course, that’s the best-case scenario, though, not the one that always ends up happening.” A pause as Anders looked up on him, his expression wary. “I don’t think your friend will like the other option though.” His expression mournful, as if the mage was recalling a memory, or maybe something else, Fenris couldn’t be sure. At Fenris’ raised brow, he continued with a deep breath. “The flowers can be removed, but the process isn’t the easiest or most pleasant.”

_“How?”_ By now, Fenris was growing ever more impatient. He needed answers.

           By the grimace that flashed across Ander’s face, Fenris had a _very_ good inkling of _exactly_ how the flowers were removed. His markings began to thrum with life at the thought of the procedure being done on him, but he needed to hear the mage say it.

           “By magic, specifically blood magic. There’s a ritual that can be preformed by a mage to remove the flowers from the individual’s lungs. The victim will be cured, and they won’t ever be in danger of contracting the disease again.” Anders cleared his throat, and Fenris could sense the unsaid “but” hanging over his words.

           “What else are you not telling me?” Fenris’ words carried a but of the frustration he was feeling. He didn’t have the time for Anders to keep pausing like this. “Just spit it out! Every moment I waste here is another moment my friend draws nearer to their death.”

           The mage at least had the decency to look apologetic. “Right, sorry. The person will be safe from ever getting Hanahaki again, but it’ll cost them their ability to feel love for the rest of their life. I actually hear that option is quite popular in Tevinter, especially within the Magisterium.”

           Fenris gave a brief nod. “Magisters only care about powerful magical bloodlines. And a Magister would rather get rid of anything that could be used as an obstacle between them and the power they crave.” He let himself spit the words out, venting some of his anxiety and fear into something he could better manage, like anger. There was another awkward pause between them. Neither one of them were used to things being this agreeable whenever the two of them were in each other’s company. Both were unsure of how to treat the other when there was no hostility being thrown back and forth. “Is there anything in the way of treatments to lessen the effects in the meantime?”

           “Fortunately, yes.” Anders turned around, his awkwardness shrugged off as he took to his usual working persona. He moved with a single-minded focus as he began to rifle through the cabinets that lined the back wall of the clinic, pulling jar after jar of dried and undried herbs from their shelves.

           Fenris allowed himself a small sigh of relief now that he was out of the mage’s clinical gaze. Both were silent as Anders continued to work, his brow creasing in concentration as he mixed herb after herb. Fenris didn’t dare creep any closer to the mage while he worked, but he did try to sneak glances past the mage’s shoulders at the herbs he was using.

           Before long, Anders turned back around. He wore a satisfied smile as he held a small vial of bright blue liquid in one hand, a worn satchel just behind him on the counter. The liquid looked vaguely similar to the lyrium potions Hawke and co. carried around, but the lack of pull at his own markings hinted that there was none to be found within. “This potion _should_ help your friend out.” At Fenris’ skeptical gaze, he continued, “It’ll temporarily dull the user’s emotions, slowing down the progression of the disease.”

           Perfect, exactly what he came for. Fenris reached out to grab the vial from Anders but it was pulled away before the tips of his fingers could do more than just graze the glass.

           “ _Remember_ that this is _not_ a permanent solution.” Anders had fixed him with a stern look, but it wasn’t one born of malice, it held the connotations more akin of a doctor talking to a stubborn patient. “This is only a treatment meant to delay the inevitable. The only way to cure this is one of the two ways I mentioned.”

           Fenris finally let his irritation show. Now that he had what he came here for, he didn’t have to be as civil, at least in his mind. “I am not such an idiot that I don’t know what the word ‘treatment’ means, nor that I have forgotten what you said earlier already.” He made sure to stand tall as he said it, squaring his shoulders like it was a challenge.

           Rising to the bait like Fenris hoped he would, Anders reacted much the same. “Don’t forget that _I’m_ the one helping _you_ out here. There’s no reason to go biting my head off for it. Or would you rather your friend go without because you pissed off the healer?” Despite their small standoff, Fenris could see some sort of ease creep back into the mage’s posture, most likely relived that the two of them were back in familiar standings with one another. Fenris only gave a grunt in response, letting go of some of his anxiety. Insults he could deal with any day.

           “I should figure that it would be in that nature of an abomination to refuse treatment on account of one individual’s attitude.” Fenris let the corner of his mouth curl upwards into a smirk.

           The mage rolled his eyes, putting the vial in the satchel with what Fenris presumed to be others. “These will only work for a few hours, and you shouldn’t have your friend drink more than one in a day, otherwise it could risk speeding up the process instead. I’ve made enough to last for a few weeks. Come back when they’re gone if things still haven’t fixed themselves by then. Now, this has been pleasant and all, but please get the hell out of my clinic.”

           Fenris took the worn leather satchel from the healer with a surprising amount of care in Anders’ eyes, securing it around his person. There was another brief awkward pause where both expected the other to say something, though neither knew what. When it was clear that nothing would be, Fenris just gave a curt nod and went for the door, trying not to show his desire to leave in his steps. Before he could slip out the door, he paused, unsure with his next words but feeling like they needed to be said, personal opinions aside. “Anders…” Fenris’ voice was low, unsure. The name felt wrong, unpleasant in a foreign way on his tongue, “Thank you.” Okay, maybe that felt even more wrong than using his name.

           Fenris could almost feel the cringe at his unexpected display of gratitude from the other end of the clinic. “You’re… welcome? And Fenris? I’m sorry.”

           Fenris had already been hallway through the door when Anders had called his name. He looked over his shoulder, meeting the mage’s gaze head on with his own. Anders was looking at him in a way that sent alarm bells tolling in his mind. The way it was voiced, the look that was being given to him now, it was as though the mage was speaking the apology to him instead as though for him to pass on. Was it possible that the Abomination had seen through his lie the entire time? _No,_ there was no real reason to disbelieve the story that Fenris had voiced. Choosing to live in his relative comfort bubble of denial that Anders was capable of seeing through his ruse, Fenris responded with a simple “I will… pass along the message.”

           He was out the clinic door after that, yet only just managed to make it a few steps beyond the oak before it was impossible to deny the aggravating itch within his lungs. The fit coughing that he was thrown into was arguably the worst one yet, the strong scent of herbs, the anxiety from earlier, it all melded together to form a violent concoction. Blood dripped from his mouth and stained the dirt below him and the petals he expelled in his hands. When it had finally subsided, he looked around in a slight panic to see if anyone had caught him. Breathing a (ragged) sigh of relief, he found the area around him to be blissfully empty for once, likely due to the late hour. He hadn’t realized how long he had spent within the clinic itself, too long if you were to ask him, a lot longer than he was comfortable with.

           Knowing that his brief window of opportunity to remain undetected, Fenris shoved the petals into the pouches on his belt as quick as he could manage while keeping one eye on his surroundings. When he deemed the coast clear, Fenris hurried back to his manor in Hightown without sparing another glance back.

           Had he taken a bit more time paying attention to his surroundings, he would have noticed the few petals that dropped from one of his unsecured pouches, drifting to the ground to settle on one of the small spatters of blood in the dirt. When all was silent, the sound of one of the oak doors could be heard swinging open, a small blond head peering out into the deserted street. Having heard the commotion outside his clinic, Anders’ eyes snapped straight to the discarded petals and specs of blood.

           The mage crouched in front of them, pulling the petals into his hand and using his foot to disperse the evidence of the blood. He turned the petals in his hand, a remorseful expression appearing on the healer’s features. He sighed and retreated into the clinic, putting the petals away in a secure location out of sight. “You must have been truly terrified if you came to me for help.” Anders whispered into the silence of his clinic. There was no way for the recipient of those words to hear them, but it wouldn’t stop Anders from voicing them anyway. “I hope things work out for you, no one deserves that kind of fate, even you.”


End file.
